From A Certain Perspective
by Child of the Muse
Summary: Read through the eyes of Tom Riddle as he explains the true horrors he faced of world war two from his point of view. Written for the Quidditch Fanfiction Competition.


_**A/N: This was written for the Quidditch Fanfiction Competition. I was to write about conquering a land/nation so I wrote about the time of world war 2 from Tom Riddle's point of view. Interesting fact! Tom Riddle actually really DID live during the time of world war 2. So...perfect factual (sort of) candidate. :D**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, I'm not J.K. Rowling, and I receive no remuneration off this narrative.**_

**My Prompts: 13 (word) bold, 9 (word) indisputable, 7 (word) hardened.  
Word Count: 2713**

_**Journal Entry #1: **__**May 10, 1940**_

The last journal I had ran out of pages to write, so today I procured for myself a new journal, which I stole from one of the stores in town. The shop keeper never saw me coming and never even saw me going. That's one of the good things about no one knowing you exist...you can get away with _everything_.

But it could also be due to the fact that she was distracted. These days, no one's mind is in the present. There is a current war that has been going on for as long as I can remember. But I should not remember it. I should not _have_ to know about it at all.

As the one true heir of Salazar Slytherin, I should not be bothered with thoughts of dying, of poverty, of starvation, of fear. I should not be bothered with the world of muggles. Instead, I should be leading the battle, I should be dining at the greatest of feasts and sipping on the finest of wines. Death should never be a thought that should cross my mind. I should never have to pick up a muggle paper and keep up with their frivolous waste of what they call society.

And yet here I find myself, a muggle newspaper beside my bed, starving, destitute, fearful, and afraid for my life. I am destitute because I have no money, being an orphan. I am starving because Mrs. Cole refused to feed me earlier and left what little food rations there were for the rest of the no good children, as she usually does. I find myself fearful and afraid for my life _because_ of said newspaper beside my bed.

I learned today, that the Nazis invaded France, Belgium, Luxembourg, and the Netherlands. And in this moment, I can only think to myself, how long will it be before they invade England?

But I will survive, no matter what I must do. This fact is indisputable.

_**Journal Entry #2: May 15, 1940**_

I find myself sickened to come to the knowledge that Holland surrendered to the Nazis today. It left me wondering who would bow first. France? Belgium? Luxembourg? The world? Certainly not I. I would _never_ bow. I, the great heir of Salazar Slytherin, chosen to do his noble work, will never serve another. And I will work to eradicate these inane filthy muggles, just as my ancestor would have done, should he still be alive.

_**Journal Entry #5: May 28, 1940**_

Eighteen days! Just eighteen days is all it took for Belgium to surrender from the time they were invaded. Just eighteen days is all it took for the Nazis to conquer, take over, and control. And with each surrender, I find myself becoming more chilled. I couldn't care less about the Christians, the Jews, or any propaganda of the current grasping regime. Atheists, Jews, Christians, Muslims, it matters not the religion, the color, the race, the sexual orientation. I hold no prejudice against any one sect of anything because all muggles are equally guilty of their crime: being alive. And I will kill them all. Every last one.

But amidst my rage, I am fearful that they may bomb England, as they did to Scotland back in March. I would, of course, defend my life to the best of my ability. But how am I to do so when I feel so weak? After all, I have not partaken of food since the day Hogwarts closed early on May first. I need food. Desperately.

Curse my human weakness.

_**Journal Entry #6: June 1, 1940**_

All wands have a trace on them but the trace itself cannot determine who last used the wand. That is what I am most grateful for at this moment. With a wand I stole from a drunk wizard, I broke into many houses and stole many paper bills to acquire money for myself. It was with this money that I set up a vault at Gringotts.

They asked me the standards questions that are always involved in trading muggle money for galleons. They had to be sure that the currency was legitimate, after all, and that the bills are acquired honestly. But beyond simply asking you where the currency came from, they do little to check if you truly did acquire it honestly. And with privately owned small sources of income, such as house cleaning, they found it beneath them to look into, just as I did and still do.

The thought still brings me amusement. Lawn mowing and housecleaning…the source of _my_ income? The lie was as incredulous as it was jocular. As if I, the great prodigy of Salazar Slytherin would _ever_ stoop so low as to clean _filthy_ muggle houses and cut their lawns! Even here at this prison, I do not participate in such things. Nor would I.

It is beneath my notice and beneath my status, for I am not the servant. No.

I am the served.

_**Journal Entry #7: June 3, 1940**_

The food I have gained has built up my magical core and I no longer feel the same weakness I did even just yesterday. It truly is remarkable what a bit of meat, starch, or whatever sustenance you find, can do for you. But my joy is short lived, I must admit.

The Germans bombed Paris and as the days draw closer, I find myself itching to go back to Hogwarts, to be under the watchful eyes of Albus Dumbledore. Because if Hogwarts were bombed, at least I could use my magic to defend myself there without fear of expulsion. But the real question is, could I be quick enough? If they attack england, if they drop the bombs close enough to this orphanage, would I be able to cast a strong enough shielding charm? And more importantly, if I used magic, even in self defense, would I run the risk of being expelled?

I do not know the answers to these questions. I find that not knowing is...irksome. However, if there is one thing that I _do_ know, it is that I would not allow them to snap my wand in half. I _would_ kill them before they tried! This is my wand and I will not have anything else taken from me!

_**Journal Entry #9: June 10, 1940**_

Yes, my core is fairing far better. I feel that strength has returned to my limbs and I am no longer surviving on simply the energy of my magical core alone. One day, I will overcome this human weakness of needing sustenance. But for now, I will enjoy the delicacies it has provided me.

For instance, despite the low rations these days, I came across a beautiful rare cut of red meat today at the local butcher's shop, a Filet mignon. I paid a high price for this rare delicacy and have since both stolen and paid for the correct spices. I will most likely break into an empty home and cook there, for I am not willing to share my treasure nor am I willing to admit how I came by such a thing. And most assuredly, one of the two would happen if I use the current cooking station within the orphanage.

Also, I must remember, that in spite of all she has done, this is one thing I must remember to thank Mrs. Cole for. Perhaps I should lessen her punishment in accordance with her unknowing good deed? I should, perhaps, not pull off all her toenails one by one without magic and rub salt into the wounds. Or perhaps I should indeed pull them off and forgo the salt? It is a quandary no doubt. But either way, one should be chosen, for if she had not assigned me the duty of the kitchen, I would not know how to cook. And I am sure that in the years to come, cooking will be something I enjoy, even beyond the day I rid myself of the need for sustenance.

But regardless, I believe that is as far as I should go on abstaining from her torture.

All good humor aside, in other events, the Nazis took control of Norway, who surrendered today.

I find it intriguing that it is within the pages of my journal where I openly ponder these concerns that I can reveal to no other.

And so I ask, why must every good idea be tempered with an evil objection? Why must every innocent be squashed under the uncaring boot of reality? For reality is a harsh mistress, and her whip has finally cracked. Italy has declared war on Britain and France. I do not know if I will survive for much longer, and I find myself overcome with fear.

In spite of this, I will push onward. I will survive. I may not be bold, but I am resourceful and cunning after all. What kind of a Slytherin would I be if I was not?

_**Journal Entry #10: June 11, 1940**_

In all the hectic haze of the insanity that is currently surrounding me, I find my joy in life's simple pleasures, like the way my knife slid through the tender buttery muscle on the fine gold banded shining black plate that I stole from the muggle woman's cabinet. At the first bite of the delicate tasty morsel, I felt like the world's most ultimate predator, although my flawless faultless manners far exceed and outshine that of the regular dining carnivore.

The first bit of flesh on my fork slid through my waiting lips. I was caught up in divine ecstasy as I stopped to savor the juicy flavor and almost moaned at the sheer orgasmic high that a seemingly innocent slice of protein could cause.

It was a shame to tear into it and swallow. It felt almost as if I were defiling it by dismissing the flavor as it left my palate. It was in an eager fashion that I devoured my meal, which worshipped my mouth with its most heavenly flavor. And in that moment, I decided that those who said the Filet mignon was low in flavor must have seared their taste buds, for this flavor was so delicate that it was to be treasured, and the texture was so tender that the meat melted like butter between my teeth.

I was in paradise. And from this paradise, I gleaned a sense of pride from my actions. For it was I that gained this rare delight. It was I that made it taste so inexplicably wonderful. It was I that acquired the resources with which to do so. And it was and is I that am proud.

And lastly, it was I who had no doubt that this was the finest meal I had ever tasted. For never had I been so sated.

_**Journal Entry #17: July 10, 1940**_

It has taken a month, but the Battle of Britain has finally begun. And in these months, I have stolen multiple times, lied on many subjects, cheated my way through a majority of life's quandaries, and specifically maimed a few who dared to stand in my way, all cunningly of course, and they never stood a chance of capturing a single glance at their silent stalker. It is in this way that I have hardened my heart against what I must do and if I must kill to save myself, then I will kill. And I will not hesitate.

No, I will do so with eagerness and pleasure. For in the killing, I shall save my own life. And yes, that is indeed pleasurable.

_**Journal Entry #25: **_August 13, 1940

The title of today's newspaper reads: German bombing offensive against airfields and factories in England.

I find myself wracked with nerves and though they are two hours away, I can hear the bombing. As usual, Mrs. Cole took all the other children and ignored me, uncaring of whether or not I die. After all, to her, I would simply be a casualty of war. A casualty she would gladly pay…but soon, she will be the one to pay. For everything. I simply must bide my time.

But for now, I must make a decision. Do I stay here, in this desolate hole? Or do I roam the streets, seeking better safety and shelter? I cannot gain safety in the Leaky Cauldron or in any other renting residences in Diagon Alley, as it is too far to seek it by foot alone. I suppose I could take the Knight Bus. But there is the question of whether or not I shall be rounded up and sent back to this inhospitable place. Is it better to seek shelter with the wizarding world or the muggle world? Or perhaps…there is a third option. Yes…I shall make my own way in both.

_**Journal Entry #26: August 15, 1940**_

Air battles and daylight raids have begun over Britain and I have decided it is too dangerous to stay in the orphanage for a single moment longer. I am leaving. I have found ways of bathing myself and with me I have a sewing needle, my wand, and my trunk (which is thankfully self-shrinking). I also carry with me the few jewels I have earned, including the gold banded black plate. I really must have the matching dining set.

But that is not of consequence in this moment. For now, I must attend to my own survival and such frivolous enquiries shall have to wait. For now, I strike out on my own.

_**Journal Entry #28: August 23, 1940**_

Today was the start of the first _German_ air raids on Central London.

Never have I been so proud of myself. Never have I been so full of joy at the capacity and sheer enormity of my power. Had I known before that I was able to command this much energy, I would never have feared.

After a few days of embarking on my own, I returned to the orphanage only to find one of the planes flying overhead and a bomb being dropped. In that moment, I knew I was not going to let myself die. I knew I had to act quickly because I was too close to the blast radius and the shrapnel alone could have ended me, much less the unstable crumbling structure around my person that could have buried and suffocated me.

I cast the strongest shield around me possible and began feeling my power, my waves of magical energy. I took them, morphed them into tendrils, and threw them back up into the sky to bomb the plane that had dared to try to destroy me. With an almost giddy feeling, I watched as the muggle machinery morphed in an explosion of fire and flame, metal pieces flying everywhere. I reinforced my shield quickly.

_**Journal Entry #33: September 10, 1940**_

Albus Dumbledore would have had my wand broken and snapped in two. But the ministry would not hear of it. Despite the fact that I was underage, used magic in a muggle infected area (my words not their own), created a shield ward, and blew up a muggle (no matter that he _was_ a bomber) with said magic, I was not punished. In fact, I have only come to find out recently (much to what I am sure is Albus Dumbledore's severe consternation) that I have been rewarded with an Order of Merlin, first class for saving the lives of the muggles in the surrounding buildings, and the children hiding in the cellar. I did not mention that I did it to save my own life. I did not admit that I enjoyed blowing the bastard to bits with his own useless muggle weapon.

No, that would be decidedly counterproductive. Instead, I am soaking up the fame and notoriety for what I have done, although it has been, of late, quickly overshadowed by much else. But for those moment, for this moment, I have brought fame and fortune to the house of Slytherin.

And it is at this moment that I promise myself one thing: Slytherin's name will be known for centuries to come. I will personally see to this.


End file.
